Part Butler and Part Buddy, Aide Keeps Kerry Running

By JODI WILGOREN

Published: April 28, 2004

YOUNGSTOWN, Ohio, April 27—
The man who would be president takes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches -- on whole wheat, strawberry jelly preferred to grape -- twice a day on the campaign trail. He wears $15 reading glasses, off the rack at CVS. Before bedtime, he starts but rarely finishes movies like ''Seabiscuit'' and ''The Blues Brothers'' in his hotel suite. Come morning, he leaves $20 for the maid.

Voters do not learn these tidbits about Senator John Kerry, the all-but-crowned Democratic nominee for president, from his campaign Web site, his public speeches or his television advertisements. These and other details make up the portfolio of the man literally behind the man, ready with an uncapped bottle of water whenever Mr. Kerry's throat runs dry.

Meet Marvin Nicholson Jr., chief of stuff.

''I can't help with policy, I don't do press,'' said Mr. Nicholson, 32, a former bartender and golf caddie who never voted before meeting Mr. Kerry in 1998. ''When he wants that peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I'm ready.''

So Mr. Nicholson crisscrosses the country with a loaf of bread in his bag. He makes most of the sandwiches himself, sometimes supplementing with room service. An exploration of the bursting black satchel always affixed to his shoulder turns up one of those sandwiches, wrapped in foil, protected by Ziploc bag, as well as an empty, jelly-pocked bag, vintage unknown. ''Kind of gross,'' Mr. Nicholson acknowledged.

To spend a day in Mr. Nicholson's shadow is to see the minutiae underpinning the multimedia production that is a modern-day presidential campaign. It also gives a rare look at a candidate entering an increasingly scripted and sheltered phase of the campaign. Mr. Kerry is comfortable being catered to. He has his moods and his myriad personal needs. A social loner, he is happy with an aide half his age.

Having risen 45 minutes earlier, Mr. Nicholson rouses Mr. Kerry each morning with a phone call, then heads down the hall to ferry the newspapers outside his door into his hands. He orders, delivers and usually lays out Mr. Kerry's meals.

He keeps little black books filled with the names and numbers of people Mr. Kerry meets; dials many of his telephone calls; helps select his neckties and opening one-liners; collects gifts from well-wishers; transports his leather briefcase, three hunter-green duffels and two navy suit bags; and, at night, often stays by his side until he is ready to go to sleep. Here in Youngstown on Tuesday morning, as rain threatened an outdoor rally, Mr. Nicholson had a large green-and-black umbrella at the ready.

If he sounds like a glorified valet, Mr. Nicholson is also Mr. Kerry's ambassador, spreading smiles, remembering names for a candidate known to fumble them, and reading his reactions for other aides. In an entourage of politicos and policy wonks, Mr. Nicholson is Mr. Kerry's buddy, going long to catch the football when he feels like tossing it on the tarmac.

''There are not many staff members who go snowboarding with the principal,'' David Morehouse, a senior adviser, said, referring to Mr. Kerry's recent ski vacation in Idaho, on which Mr. Nicholson accompanied him. ''John Kerry wanted Marvin to go snowboarding with him.''

Every modern presidential candidate has a factotum, or ''body man,'' typically an ambitious Washington junkie, overqualified to schlep bags but eager to shake high-powered hands.

Greg Schneiders, an international political consultant, was President Jimmy Carter's administrative assistant in the 1976 campaign. He cites that fact in the first paragraph of his biography, even though he went on to run the day-to-day operations of the White House communications office, serve as a Senate press secretary and teach at Georgetown. Two of President Bill Clinton's former aides became executives at USA Networks and Starbucks; one of Mr. Gore's aides is engaged to his daughter.

Mr. Nicholson, who earned a geography degree at the University of Western Ontario and once aspired to be on the Weather Channel, seems a different breed.

Raised in Toronto and on Vancouver Island by an American mother -- his father died when he was 9 -- he was working at a windsurfing shop in Cambridge, Mass., when he befriended Senator Kerry, a customer. Then he caddied for Mr. Kerry two summers on Nantucket, including a round with Mr. Clinton. Asked which politician had the better swing, Mr. Nicholson said: ''I think Clinton only because he plays more. Say they took a year and they golfed every day, Kerry'd be a better golfer.''

He postponed Mr. Kerry's offer of a Senate internship to caddie at Augusta National, then landed in Washington the week before the 2000 election. By New Year's, he had become Mr. Kerry's driver. A few months ago, he inherited the candidate's 1984 Dodge 600 ES convertible when it was replaced by a 2002 Chrysler.

They hit the campaign trail together last winter.

Mr. Nicholson's role has evolved. He is no longer the guy who gets the toothpaste. Instead, Mr. Nicholson, who earned $45,000 last year, is the guy who asks the guy to get the toothpaste. Plenty of people are around, now, to help lug Mr. Kerry's Spanish guitar to his room and tote his Serotta racing bicycle.